Mortal Fall (39 page)

“That’s nice,” I said. “So what’s he get disability for again?”

My dad rolled his eyes and reminded me that Seth had been hurt while at work for the timber company, messing up the nerves in his forearm while working some heavy equipment. “His forearm looks fine to me, though,” he said. My dad’s attitude about Seth was the typical familial stance of
I can bitch all I want about him because I live with him, but you can’t
. So I was careful not to say anything else about how I thought Tracy and her family were taking advantage of an old, drunk guy who just happened to have a little money and a decent place to live, thanks to the construction boom in Northwest Montana. No one could ever accuse my dad of not being generous. If he had money, he shared it, even if he liked to bitch about it.

“He’s lazier than a cow. Eats like one too,” he snarled as we started to walk back to the patio. “So do the kids. I can’t dish out enough for groceries these days.”

Even though I started it, I decided I wasn’t going to keep going there, so as we took a seat in some patio chairs on the porch, Dad holding his side with one hand and the other curled around his can of beer, I said, “Glacier Academy.” My dad finally let go of his back and opened his beer can, the pop and fizz of it abrasive against the evening scuffling of chipmunks and birds scurrying around the bushes and trees beyond his small and still unimpressive lawn. No matter how much
work
Seth had claimed to do, there were weeds and loads of unsightly, thick, and dark green patches of grass that didn’t match the rest of it. Tracy had poked her head out and told us she was going to catch some reality TV show that she just couldn’t miss.

“Glacier Academy,” I said again. “The place Adam went to as a teen?”

“Yeah, what about it?” He winced at his beer can at the same time
he cupped his hand around his lower back. “Damn, these chairs are uncomfortable.”

“You think it was worth it? You think that place did any good?”

“Shit if I know. Why do you care about it now?”

“I don’t know. Just found out a little more about the place since I’ve been working on a case.”

“Ahh.” Dad nodded, like he now understood everything. “And you want to what? Blame me for sending him there. You find something that says it wasn’t good enough?”

“I didn’t say that, but, yeah, you hear about that girl hanging herself in 1995?”

“Oh no, you don’t, Monty.” He tucked his chin toward his shoulder as if to shield himself or to contain his anger. “We are
not
having this conversation.”

“Why not?”

“Jesus. What do you want to imply here?”

“Nothing. I just want to know if you’ve kept any tabs on the place, is all. I know it must’ve cost a load of money to send him there.”

“It sure as shit did. You know, that was pretty much his college money. But I did what I needed to do back then. You remember. Your brother was getting into all sorts of trouble. He needed to go somewhere to straighten up. Your mother certainly wasn’t going to help in that department. That was some of the first big money I ever made in my life. First I spent it on him, then we were finally able to afford some real, in-patient treatment for your mother, then shit, it was your turn and you got to go to college.”

“I was lucky,” I said.

“Damn right, you were. You think it was easy spending that kind of cash to straighten Adam out? I’d have certainly preferred he went to college like you. Shit, I never got to do that.”

“No, I don’t think it was easy.” He had been generous with helping me through college, but I didn’t want to remind him that I also qualified for a number of state scholarships and took on some pretty
good-size student loans. “I know you needed help with him. I was just curious if you’d heard about the place since then. You know, like over the years?”

He glared at me. “Like I said, Monty. What are you going there for?”

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “A few of the guys that worked there were pretty big bullies. Used a lot of, shall we say, old-fashioned disciplinary measures.”

Dad frowned at me and took another large swig of his beer. This was his fourth one. I tried to not count when I was with him, but old habits die hard. I’d be long gone by the time he started to get belligerent, then passed out on the couch. Tracy could deal with him then. Whether they were using him or not, I considered, they still had to put up with his irascible ways when he started to go sideways. “Jesus, Monty. I told you: we are not having this conversation. Why are you putting this on me now? As if taking care of your mother my entire adult life wasn’t enough of a hell, now you gotta dump this on me? What are you here for?”

“I’m not dumping anything on you. I just wondered if you’d ever heard anything after the fact. I know you believed in the place. You did what you had to; Adam was a mess. I’m not saying anything is anybody’s fault.”

“So you come all the way out here after not visiting for months pretending to be concerned about my back and all you want is more information on your damn case?”

“No, nothing like that. Just curious.”

“What does your case have to do with that place anyway?” He asked more calmly, and I was surprised to see the small shift—the ability to brake for a change, to keep the conversation from escalating.

“One of the men that died. He used to be a counselor there.”

“So?”

“So nothing.” It never ceased to amaze me how I could sit sober before my dad while he drank beer after beer, and I still reverted back
to childhood arguing techniques as if I was twelve again. I wondered if that’s the way he still saw me—young and incapable. I wondered if he thought of his sons as nothing more than two additional burdens on his life—one because he drank and did drugs, the other a prisoner of his youth and small stature. And now, as irony would have it, he housed—burdened himself with—a man about my age
and
his entire family. My father—the very odd mix of caretaker and drunk, with more success on the drunk side.

“So you’re bugging me about Glacier Academy because you’re thinking Adam has something to do with your case?”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Why would you think that?” I asked.

“Why else would you bring it up?” he said. “You could give a rat’s ass about what I think otherwise, so it has to have something to do with Adam, me, or your mother.”

“That’s not true.”

“What isn’t true?” he asked.

“That I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you think.”

He looked at me, his bottom lip pouty. I couldn’t tell if he really thought I didn’t care about what he had to say or not, but I could tell he cared. He looked hurt for a moment—the same frailty I’d noticed in Adam—then shook it off and took another sip.

“Maybe I’m just curious,” I added.

He continued to stare at me, dark, puffy bags under his eyes. He had gained more weight, his beer belly sticking out farther. His skin looked somewhat peaked for sunny July. I wanted to tell him that if he lost a few pounds, it would help his back, but there was no point. I wondered how his liver was holding up.

“Oh, just curious, huh?” A smile played at the corner of his mouth like he was preparing to humor me.

“Yeah, so after the Nathan Faraway incident—”

“Holy shit,” he said. “You gonna go there too?”

“Well, it was after that that Adam started to quit going to school and get into all the drugs and stuff.”

“So a lot of stuff happened in those years. I was at work a lot. I don’t remember them being connected in any way.”

I didn’t respond.

Dad pointed his beer can at me. “I don’t know what you’re getting at here, but what? You implying that there was more to Nathan’s disappearance than something unfortunate with a mountain lion or a grizzly or something?”

“That all the cops told you?”

“Of course that’s all. Are you implying something about your brother?”

“No, I’m not. Again, I’m just –”

“What? After all these years, you gonna solve something the cops couldn’t solve at the time it happened?”

He was putting me in my place with the usual hint of condescension, as if I thought I was bigger and better than I actually was, and that I should remember that I wasn’t. “I’m not trying to solve anything from back then, just what I’m working on now.”

“And you have evidence linking Adam to what you’re working on now?”

I shook my head and lied. “No, Dad, I don’t. I’m only trying to piece some things back together in my mind from the past. You never do that? Nothing from your past ever follow you around?” I could see it sting.

He looked at his beer can, then beyond the rock wall toward the trees. Two deer were feeding in the woods, their long, tan necks gracefully curving to the ground. He crushed his can with one hand, the tin crunch of it cutting through the still, soft stretch of the summer evening, and stood stiffly. “I need another,” he grumbled as he headed for the sliding screen door.

• • •

Tracy followed me out to my car.

“You know,” she said. “Your father, well, he, he . . .”

“Drinks too much?” I finished for her.

“Well, yeah, I mean. He kind of passes out every night in front of the TV, then he’s really cranky the next morning.”

I wanted to be honest with her, lay it out crystal clear that my father has been that way for longer than I could remember. That one of my first memories was tiptoeing down the hall on Christmas Eve because I thought I heard Santa, to find my father in front of the fridge guzzling from a tall, clear bottle. I wanted to tell her that there wasn’t a damn thing she or I or anyone in the world could do to change it if he wasn’t interested in changing it himself, so if she didn’t like it, she best pack her and her kids and her grandkids up and move on out. But the pleading concern in her eyes made me pause. I sighed instead, ignoring the reek of her nicotine breath fanning toward me. “Look, Tracy, I really don’t know what you can do to make him cut back, but have you simply asked him to?”

“Yes, and it’s a big fight every time.”

“I can tell you that it’s better, if that helps.”

“Better?” She squinted at me in disbelief.

“Uh huh.” I nodded. “Age has slowed him down some. Can’t keep up the pace he had when I was a boy forever.”

A deep frown set across her face. I looked away, toward the house, its beautiful honey-colored timber framing set against the dark forest. There was some pride welling up in me. He had built it. He had skills that transcended the disease. I couldn’t see her grown son’s lawn from the drive, but a deep green and lush cedar tree with its full and elegant dangling plumes stood off to the side of the house as if it were offering some kind of grace, some kind of protection. Maybe I had gotten it wrong. Maybe Tracy and her family weren’t using my father. Maybe they were helping him, protecting him, giving him the gift of company in the latter part of his life. “Thank you, Tracy,” I said.

“For what?”

“For being here for him.”

“Yeah, well, he’s good to us in a lot of ways. I just wish he wouldn’t drink so much.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said. “Welcome to the family.” I opened my car door, hopped in, and waved good-bye.

41

R
IGHT AROUND MIDMORNING
the following day, Ford asked to see Ken and me in his office. Outside, the day was hot, going on ninety-six degrees, which is sweltering for Glacier. We had the windows open, but there was no breeze and you could almost feel the glaciers dwindling with each inhale of the hot, dry air.

Ken was at the big table in the center of the room on his computer, scribbling down notes and I was running more of the Glacier Academy students through searches. We had given Karen some money to make a sandwich run for us, and she had just returned and was handing them out. I was in the process of making a fresh pot of coffee. The room had a lazy, late afternoon feel to it even though it wasn’t noon yet. Ford stuck his head through the door and said, “Sorry to interrupt your snack break, but Harris and Greeley, I need you in my office in five.”

Karen gave a rise of one eyebrow, and Ken looked at me. I had been expecting it, and actually couldn’t believe he had left us to our investigative tasks as long as he had. “Have a quick few bites,” I said to Ken, knowing he was always better with food on board, “and we’ll head in.” I carefully tucked my pen in my pocket and tidied up the file I had open beside my laptop.

Ken gobbled down several bites of a roast beef and Swiss sandwich, took a swig of some coffee Karen put in front of him, and sighed. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

“Good luck.” Karen waved by flapping her four fingers forward over her palm as we left the room.

“So,” Ford said as soon as Ken and I took a seat in front of his desk. “Since Joe’s away this week, I figure I better check in with you guys. How’s your investigation into the two
accidents
going?” He said accidents with increased stress and clarity, indicating to us that he didn’t think for a second that there was any foul play involved and that we were wasting our time and precious Park Police resources.

I gave him a complete rundown of what we were doing to investigate the two incidents, boring him with most of the details except for the arrest I made of Martin Dorian, which grabbed his attention.

“So, this Martin Dorian? He’s your prime suspect?”

“Not anymore. He has an alibi for one of the victims that checks out. Determining the TOD of Phillips has been more difficult because of the state of the body and the exposure to the elements.”

“And Phrimmer? What evidence do you have on him?”

“Sir?”

“I said, what kind of evidence could you possibly have on Phrimmer for you to actually accuse him of having something to do with the death of Sedgewick?”

I shot forward on my seat and looked Ford in the eye. “We did not accuse Phrimmer of anything, sir. We simply asked him some questions because in the course of our investigation, his name was brought up as someone who didn’t like Sedgewick or his work in the park. It’s our duty to follow up on all leads, just as it’s our duty to check out all calls on the tip line, whether they’re hearsay, seem ridiculous, or not. You wouldn’t want us to not be thorough, would you?”